Mr. Eliot’s Maundy Thursday

The sky is silver blue,
and in the evening light
arising from the tufted grass
crepuscular brown beetles pass.

In this Egyptian hour,
before the last bell sounds,
the clouds in a majestic light
hold the hieratic night.

Inside the dimming city
the roaches also rise
in the interstices of towers
conjuring decaying powers.

Gleaming, laminated bugs
a catafalque intend.
A distant whistle ends the day-
what night does this portend?

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